


The Trip to Bobby's

by roguefaerie (samidha)



Series: A Skip in Time (Time Agnosia Supernatural Style) [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Anti-Poly Sentiments, Bobby Does Not Think Sam's the Prettiest, Bobby Singer's House, Bobby Singer's Panic Room, Disabled Sam Winchester, Drunk Bobby Singer, Drunkenness, Family Drama, Gen, Grumpy Old Men, Men behaving badly - Freeform, Neurodivergent Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 22:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13727541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/roguefaerie
Summary: Sam just wanted to go somewhere where he could test his theory on the treatment for his time whammy. He gets to test it, and a whole lot more than he bargained for as he sees shades of the hunter world in shambles. He protects Dean and Jess from one tiny piece of this even while he continues to heal.(Notes are important.)





	The Trip to Bobby's

**Author's Note:**

> Not the best thing I ever wrote, but I felt bad for leaving this out because really, Sam went through some serious shit at Bobby's, which only strengthens his resolve, but I'm very protective of Sam right now in his somewhat disabled state, and...yeah.

Bobby’s house feels hot to Sam. It’s more cluttered than he remembers, too. But then, the last time he was here, actually to spend a significant amount of time, he was small. Bobby’s always been a phone call or two away, but they haven’t really had reason to come by the yard since--since Jess.

Sam’s stomach lurches a little but he doesn’t go anywhere other than right where he is.

“Hey, Sam,” Bobby says, a little wary. “Everything okay, kid?”

“Yeah, Bobby. I, uh…”

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning, right?”

And Sam is tired, but also wired from anxiety. Still, he’s happy to be excused from an explanation. He makes a home for himself on the couch before Bobby can say anything else, even though he hangs off the furniture. Of course he does.

_Sasquatch._

He always has, though, and this is fine.

*~*~*

In the morning, Bobby offers him a dark bottle and Sam blinks. “Hey, Bobby, um, can I just grab tap water?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

Sam realizes that Bobby hasn’t slept. Part of him thinks he should wonder what Bobby’s researching, but the other part of him knows he’s got a little slice of peace where he lives and he’d rather not know.

“So...you feeling better?” Bobby asks. “I mean, you must be, right--”

The phone rings. It’s early. Early for Dean, maybe even early for Sam. Sam doesn’t always sleep well.

“Eat shit and die, Rufus,” Bobby says, and he looks like he wants to toss his phone out a window.

The house feels so hot.

Like Bobby turned up the heat to ward against something somehow.

“Uh.”

“Well, Sam, if you’re feeling better, that’s great,” Bobby says, distant. “I won’t be in your hair. I’ve got work to do out in the yard. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna stay in one place today?” Bobby asks, and Sam feels young and tiny, like before he even reached his full height at thirteen.

“Yeah, Bobby, ‘course,” he says, not sure if he’s lying.

*~*~*

When Bobby comes back in the house, Sam’s drifted back into a fitful sleep. His head hurts and he’s been trying to sleep it off. He misses his own bed that fits him (and his family).

Bobby is drunk. Really drunk. “Kid. I don’t know what you did, but your father won’t stop bein’ a menace, you know that? D’you ever think of that when you did all your meddlin’?”

“Um, Bobby.”

“And then...that girl of yours....”

“Bobby, you’re not feeling right, okay?” Sam says.

He’s not even sure if he’s seen Bobby in this state before. Something’s wrong. Something is so, so wrong with this house.

“Maybe I should put John in the basement.”

“What? You have a basement?”

“Dug it out myself.”

“Um. Okay.”

“You haven’t been here in a long time, Sam. I always loved you like a son.”

“Bobby--I have a family now. And I….I got sick and we weren’t really traveling.”

“I should put him down there. Rid him whatever’s wrong with him. Maybe your girl too.”

“Bobby, this isn’t you. What’s in your basement?”

“Iron.”

Sam takes a flask from his jacket pocket, the cream colored one he hasn’t worn since he was on the road. “C’mon, Bobby, you need some water.”

“Holy water?”

“Both kinds.”

“Yer not wrong. Fine.”

Bobby takes a swig. “Sorry, Sam. I worry about you.”

“I’m all right, Bobby.”

“You and your girl?”

“We have a family, Bobby, and they took care of me when I…”

“When it drove ya bonkers.”

Sam blinks and says nothing.

He looks in the direction of the door (wrought iron).

He’ll just sleep. He’ll sleep, and when Bobby isn’t around--

“You just make sure, Sam, there’s things you could be huntin’. I know you, I know your skills. If you could get out of your little fantasy-- Some of us are fighting, here.”

“They’re my family, Bobby.”

Bobby closes his eyes, shrugging. “Hunters don’t get families, Sam.”

_Well then I’m not a hunter, not anymore, never wanted to be._

“Playin’ house like that, an’ two people… You know I haven’t seen Dean either? I used to count on him.”

Anger burns in Sam’s gut. “Listen, Bobby, we’re fine. They love me and I love them. I love them more than you--”

“More than I know? Oh, I know.”

“Had to get drunk to give me this little talk, did ya, Bobby?”

“Hell, maybe you’re the one needs in the basement…”

Everything lurches. This. This. It did happen. Somehow it did happen. And if Sam doesn’t do his recitations he may end up right there.

“What’ve you got in there, Bobby?”

“Rock salt, Sam. Why?”

The phone rings.

Sam has to know.

He makes a dash for the iron door. 

The walls are piled high with rock salt just like Bobby said. But there’s a cot, too.

The world dips and spins and Sam screams his song list in his head, fingers the button on his iPod.

His 2009 playlist that he made with input from Jess blares in his ears and the lurching stops.

He hates this place. He imagines Jess blocking Bobby from the doorway while Dean wrecks the place, upending the cot. Nothing to do about the wrought iron but that cot….

He wants to burn it.

He would burn it with Dean.

He’s not even sure what he’s doing when he tries to quiet the connection to Jess and Dean. He just knows he needs to or they’re going to get blasted to hell and back by the little hell chamber in the bottom of the house.

He’s got to get home to Dean. He’s got to get home. He should have known better, even if he planned his getaway for months, which he did, and was mentally prepared, he couldn’t know what Bobby would be like when he got here.

Not possessed, but clearly losing a bit of the plot.

Sam’s not feeling particularly charitable about handing it back to him, either.

To Sam, it’d be fine if he just never--ever--ever again.

 _Canary in the coalmine_ , he thinks. And then, _Some people do not mix well with their alcoholic parents or their drinks of choice_.

He’s exhausted. He’ll sleep in the car, even though he didn’t bring the Impala, but something much more nondescript.

He’ll leave, so Bobby doesn’t have a mind to show him more of the wonders of his underground (torture chamber) lair.

He drives off and doesn’t stop for about a hundred miles.

He’s got to get back to safety. And if this is what talking to hunters is like now….he’d just as gladly never do that again.

*~*~*

The whole trip home, he’s filled with a mixture of relief and dread. There’s really only one place for someone like Sam Winchester to be. And that place is home, and Dean and Jess are there.

He holds in his fear that he didn’t get out of the situation fast enough. It was something Dean would have been able to handle, but then, nobody would threaten to lock Dean up, not anyone who knew him anyway.

The Sam Winchester patented curse. Right there out in the open. 

He just has to get home. And fast.

*~*~*

He does so, driving like a bat out of hell, and only schools himself because he doesn't want to scare Dean or Jess. He takes a few minutes around the corner from the house to breathe and get ready. He'll have to appear fine, when he's never needed them more in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> None of this is okay. The panic room will never be okay. Bobby is the one who always said Sam was the problem. I still think about it.


End file.
